Clamor

Lying in bed I look over at you
your hair mussed in every direction.
Greys and whites paint the scape
like the waves and the white foam.
Lines of cream rush against the sandy shore.

Outside my window
wind catches the limbs of the trees
sweeping them one way and then another.
Brushes move the air across the branches
bending with each breath.

Outside no moment of rest.
Will the branches find a time of rest?
Will the wind retire as day warms?
How long do I sit here staring through the glass?

Looking for rest
among brown and green.

 

The words

Answer if you hear the words under the words.*
Answer if the words you hear are true.

Days go by with acid spit on words.
Words spoken only for the sake of an argument.

You say, so I’ll say.

Days go by, and I hear wincing with each response.
Sometimes forming a comeback, sometimes putting my head down.

And last night I answered, answered and stepped away.
Not willing to engage, I’d spoken.

This morning I woke to a question, easy to answer.
An answer without a comeback.

A morning walk met by a gentle downpour.
The words had been heard,
the words under the words.

• Naomi Shihab Nye, “The Words Under the Words”

Saturday mornings

The two of us set out
in early morning.
Bare feet on the beach
step from pier to pier
as the ocean rushes
through the piers,
splashes on the rocks
and our legs and ankles.
Bare feet leap from pier to pier
daring each move
as the tide comes in.
At home for breakfast
our legs swing against
the chair while wiping
bites of pancakes in puddles
of syrup.
Sticky legs and lips.

From the pages of a book

I shared the story of Roxaboxen with you.
A story rich with imagination.
Where stones became walls
and it didn’t matter that we’d never seen ocotillo.

Below the playground you and your friends
began to construct your world with rock edges.
Days grew an imaginative world –
a product of your attention.

Talk filled the air as you and your friends
arranged rocks and other treasures
available to your third grade lives.
A world brought to life with easily found objects.

The focus of each recess
roles were assumed.
A world became inhabited through the
imaginations of eight year olds.

Simplicity, imagination, attention helped pass the time.
A hillside outlined in rocks.
Filled with an array of objects
and busy children.

it’s fiction

it all began with a pandemic
hundreds and thousands of people dying
it seemed none of us were prepared for all that
was happening around us

we all began living socially isolated lives

in the midst of the pandemic
while many of us lived quiet
socially distanced lives

the continuing taking of black lives
by the police and white men with no motive
became intolerable
the problems in our country were glaring at us

this time we considered all that we saw and heardaround us
we read more to help give form to our thinking
opening ourselves to learn beyond our own life’s experiences

we began to think concretely how our world cound be fairer
and if it starts with me
what will my first steps to focus on equity
as I build relationships regardless of the context of my space

Quick musings about eight words found in my notebook

Looking back my eyes wander pages for a word to grab. Little else inhabits the decision.

First landing on the word, ruffles which pushes off my tongue – I can almost imagine the sound of the word, the movement of my lips creating a ruffle in the air.

On to patron – a funny word – a patron of the arts, how else might I use it, a restaurant patron though it has been sometime now.

And skitters – I remember writing this word as I watched an anole skitter across one of the broad cast iron leaves outside my window, or maybe it was the bark on the elm tree. Like ruffles, a fun word to say, the way your tongue pushes against your teeth as you shape it.

Anole – captured on another page, always just outside my window. If not written everyday certainly encountered daily this time of year.

Concrete – there were years before I knew the difference between concrete and cement. If you’re not sure – cement sticks things together.

Puzzle pieces – a useful word when you’re building a metaphor though it’s rare when the comparison has such defined edges.

Sabbath – today though less distinguishable from other days right now. Still there are some rituals which identify it as the sabbath.

And community where I have returned on this sabbath in June to write, share, read and grow.

So today’s captured words reflect the time in which they were written. I wonder how common that is. Sound and time and random bits.